


Every Little Thing Chris Does, Is Magic.

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Real Genius (1985)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, First Kiss, First Time, He’s still a lovable eccentric, Lap Dances, M/M, Morning After, Prison, The usual Chris Knight idiocy, drunken escapades, strip club, tequila shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Chris turns up to Mitch’s graduation with a night full of celebration.Mitch remembers the strip club just not how the two of them wake up in the slammer. Or, what happened back at Chris’ place that night.





	Every Little Thing Chris Does, Is Magic.

The Pacific Tech Graduating class of Summer ’88 all took to the podium. Throughout the cheers and whoops (plus a few interesting slurs Mitch pretended not to hear) caps were thrown and the party had begun.

It wasn’t like there really was an after party as such, no shenanigans to partake in, just a good ole’ night to waste getting piss drunk. Getting piss drunk with college graduates, not exactly Mitch’s idea of celebrating.

He had learnt to loosen up in the years after Chris Knight, after popcorn lasers, tanning invitationals and ice skating throughout the halls but, Mitch’s life did come to a bit of a standstill after Chris graduated. Jordan followed the next year, she had gotten into her dream job, somewhere classified. Which was strange. All Mitch ever really knew was that she was a mechanic somewhere, maybe even working for the Pentagon or some other important place for not so sane people to work at. He had his suspicions.

Their thing lasted a few months more until he finally decided that she needed to live her life and not have to worry about to stuffy little soon to be seventeen year old back in her old dorm. Jordan had gotten everything Mitch assumed she’d ever wanted. They talked on the phone every couple of weeks or, she’d waffle on about her latest contraption that sometimes he struggled to visualise, sometimes he caught her vibe straight away. He missed her, he really did. He had another year until he too was thrown into the adult world (of physics) to worry about so, he let her go.

That year had passed. He’d shed himself of his gown and was headed back to the dorms to pick up the last of his things. His dorm- he laughed to himself. Mitch has only started calling it _his_ a couple months ago, after he’d finally managed to clear out the last remnants of Chris (a surprisingly huge and completely gross ball of gum that was wedged underneath what was Chris’ desk, there had been a pen lodged in it which Mitch promptly threw out of the window) and figured, that he could finally let Chris go and focus on his last few months at Pacific Tech.

Which all in all worked. He studied like mad, partied a bit, taught a couple of Dr Meredith’s classes for him (he was still a star student, whether he liked it or not) and every once in a while he’d do something a little reckless, a little _gnarly_ and embrace his inner Christopher Knight. He also hadn’t stopped using Chris’ signature _It’s A Moral Imperative_ for when he needed to get through a list of arduous work. It was a fun reminder of what once was.

He traced his way through the long, winding (coated with all sorts of slanderous filth) walls of the dorms for the last time. His hand clutched at the doorknob to his room and he took a deep breath, smiled, and opened the door.

It didn’t happen very often but, Mitch was stunned.

“Hi, would you be prepared if gravity reversed itself?”

Mitch smirked. He took a long look at the idiot blonde still in his handstand and turned away, grinning like a loon.

“I suppose you finally found a way to keep the change in your pockets?”

“Why yes Mitch, it’s called owning a wallet.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. He shifted so that the lean body was in view, feet now firmly on the ground.

“That used to always be a much easier way to spook you. What the hell happened? Did you suddenly find humour?” Chris, as melodramatic as ever, pouted.

“The suit.. what the hell happened to me, what the hell happened to _you_?!” Mitch feigned his concern.

His eyes roamed all over Chris, decked out in what had to be the most ridiculous outfit he’d seen him in yet. A navy suit, nicely cut, ironed (how?) and neatly pressed. Everything seemed to fit him perfectly, his nearly white (how remarkable) shirt clung a little tight to his torso but other than that, Chris looked.. sophisticated. It was unnerving.

“You actually look like you’ve been swallowed by authority, it’s concerning.” Mitch couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ah, I see. The universe is conspiring to torture me, making me dress as though I am an _adult.“_ He paused for dramatic effect. _“_ I am disgusted. It’s completely unfair. I miss the slippers.” Chris pouted again, his eyes roamed all up and down Mitch’s body.

Mitch was also in the remnants of a suit, his tie hung loose and his shirt was riding up a little.

“And _this_.” Chris gestured wildly, “does not exactly scream ‘ _one of the top ten minds of America_ ’ to me. You too look way too respectable. I thought once I’d departed, you’d learnt to lighten up and throw on a t-shirt. Where did we go so wrong, Mitch?”

Mitch looked down at himself, he was still smiling.

“Mitch.” He hadn’t noticed Chris had strutted over to him. “Mitch.” Only long, slightly tanned (that was new) fingers traced his cheek, angling his head up. “Mitch. We _both_ look way too respectable. It is an _outrage_.”

Mitch met Chris’ smile with one of his own.

“You graduated and have grown, I want to say, at least four inches? Was that what Lazlo had so rightfully prophesied?” Chris adopted a weird sing-songy tone towards the end, they both knew who was right. To the precise inch.

“You should’ve told me you were in town, we could’ve planned to—“

Chris scoffed. “Make a Plan? When have we ever made a _plan_? You graduated, I’m here. Your eighteen, let’s go get drunk. Hmm.. just to be sure no satellites are about to fall out of orbit” He paused, ran to the window, stuck his head out. “Nope it appears we are good and I really did just make a plan. No, call it a scheme. That’s more like it.”

Much more like Chris indeed.

* * *

How Mitch had been dragged down to a strip club, he had no clue.

What he did have a handle on was that beer had been flowing, then they’d grabbed a bite. Now he was watching some blonde bimbo with breasts that he wouldn’t actually be able to hold in one hand, grind up a pole by his right side.

Her ‘name’ was Misty, he didn’t want to know anymore about her.

His eyes darted about the room, then back to his lap. Mitch wasn’t too surprised to find that he wasn’t enjoying the show like he thought he would. It was an uncomfortable thing.

He was barely eighteen and Chris had somehow gotten him into the joint in the first place. It was a mystery, he figured he shouldn’t question it.

Honestly (not that Mitch was really watching) but he swore that Chris didn’t seem too impressed either. Either that or Chris was plotting something that would end up with about four strippers surrounding their table, lured by his charm and quick wit, not the money he likely had. As in, come on: The suit was giving away too much there, Mitch decided.

Chris’ eyes were on _him_. At least, he thought as so. Mitch took a sip of beer, lifting the bottle high enough that he could take a peak at Chris’ face- the new dark circles under his eyes, maybe a couple of new lines where he had furrowed his brow too often, or quizzically raised it for that matter- Chris’ beautiful face. His hair was slicked back, he’d grown it out and miraculously, brushed it. Mitch thought again as to how this ‘new, investment banker type’ Chris was unnerving. The man had to be scheming something. Just a strip club for graduation? Mitch could’ve laughed at the little imagination Chris was using there. It wasn’t even that original.

“Are you enjoying this?” Mitch’s voice seemed to break Chris’ dazed stupor.

“I’m sorry; what?” Chris yelled at him, over the table. The harsh beat of _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ (the typical stripping song, as Chris was likely to point out) was ringing in both their ears, the gyrations of some chick beside Chris’ head caught Mitch’s eye.

Never in Mitch’s life did he think he’d be humming along to _Def Leppard_. He didn’t think too deep as to how he even knew the song.

“I said, this is the sort of thing that Darlington employees enjoy?”

Chris said nothing, Mitch used his moment.

“How come your still sat with me here anyway? Shouldn’t you have your face buried in.. whatever that chick behind you has stuffed into her bra?”

“This new level of wit is all in all _concerning_ , my dear Mitch. And no I’d rather not motorboat this mighty fine lady…” He paused, took a sip of his beer then, “again I’m concerned.”

He seemed coy. Mitch figured, he was definitely up too something.

At that moment two women, in neon heels and matching lingerie approached the table. Oh god, was Mitch right.

“Mitch, Mitch Taylor.” The one with pastel eyelids, big blonde bouncy curls, took his hand and hauled him from his seat.

“Congrat—u—la—tions.” Her fingers punctuated each syllable on his chest.

Her voice was sultry. Sherry Nugil level of sultry.

With a giggle she pulled him towards her, she wrapped one tanned leg around him, edging him in even closer. He could literally _hear_ Chris’ smirk. So this was how he wanted to play it.

Mitch just stood there. She did her thing. A squat here, a lunge there, arms traced his body then, she pulled him a chair. He hadn’t even noticed that Chris was now at his side, laughing.

“You can thank me later.” He winked, Mitch blushed and stuttered. He’d missed his last chance at escape and cursed himself.

They were into the second minute of Coral’s (wasn’t it?), ‘come hither’ routine. She wrapped her long, fishnet covered limbs around the pole, after each turn and wiggle of her ass, her piercing blue eyes fell back onto Mitch. Another one of her friends (he decided to call her Crystal) was holding him there, one finger ran up and down his chest. Mitch squirmed and tried to relax.

Which proved futile when he caught glimpse of Chris. He was in his direct line of sight. His hazel (or were they grey, he could never tell) eyes didn’t leave his form. His form. Not the bleach blondes grinding themselves all around him. He knew Chris was the king of finding fun in every distraction but this, this was a new level of strange Mitch couldn’t comprehend with all these boobs in his face. 

Chris’ eyes (he went with hazel) were dark. His iris’ crowded his pupils, his expression dripped in lust and desire. His lips (they seemed a lot more prominent than what Mitch remembered them to be) were parted and moving. He couldn’t hear him. He did see Chris lick at them.

He yelled back to Chris, but it was cut short as another blonde coke-thin lady blocked his line of sight. When she moved, he noticed Chris had gone.

Mitch shuffled in his seat, as _Mötley Crüe_ filled the room. The lights flickered, red and black, red and black all around them. Apparently Mitch’s private treatment wasn’t over. He groaned to himself.

* * *

After what felt like an eternity of the female anatomy mutilating his brain, he finally found Chris with beer number four in hand. He was nibbling on some peanuts in the middle of the table.

“So, how was she?”

“Which one? I couldn’t count the limbs.” They both laughed.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure. There are more scantily clad women here than I think I’ve _ever_ dealt with. That sort of thing really does a number on physicists such as us. You used your smarts right? Dazzled her with your head? Told her of a promising future and this being the first step into manhood?”

Mitch didn’t say anything.

“And, I’ve failed again.” Chris laughed, peanuts in hand.

“Are you getting a dance or are we done here?” Mitch asked blunt, that surprised him both.

A deviant smile crossed Chris’ lips. “Not tonight, it’s about _you_.”

“Getting mauled by a truck load of Cindy Crawford wannabe’s isn’t my ideal celebration, Chris.”

“Oh really, I was thinking Elle MacPherson. That and all I’m hearing is that this night isn’t over.”

“It sure as hell isn’t.”

* * *

The rest of the night was hazy, even more so than the strip club with the blinding lights and worrying amount of grinding women with daddy-issues.

How the two of them woke up in a goddamn _prison cell_ , Mitch will never know.

“Chris.” He asked groggy, rubbing at the dull pain behind his head.

“Mitch, am I glad to see you awake. I’ve been in here twenty minutes already.”

Mitch couldn’t help but laugh.

They were sitting opposite one another. Mitch on the bed that creaked every time he moved and Chris, was etching something on the wall. The tally chart by Chris’ head apparently did show only twenty minutes. That couldn’t be right.

“Last thing I remember was.. um, some girls.. in the theatre? A light night showing of… some film… a swordsman and a possessed baby? Was it a baby? Or a demon?”

Chris raised himself to his feet. His trousers were a little torn, he’d lost his jacket. He shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his eyebrow when his left hand ripped straight through the stitching.

“Look much more like yourself already. What the hell did we drink last night?” Mitch slurred.

“Maybe tequila shots in the back of the cinema watching possessed babies become a sacrifice, after a night of you dry humping strippers was _not_ the way to go… screw it Mitch, welcome to adulthood.” Chris smiled. He sounded a little tired, the circles under his eyes had darkened. If anything, he looked more wired than usual.

“Where did- no, when did you even get those?” Mitch gestured to his feet.

Bunny slippers.

He was relieved that finally Chris _still avoiding responsibility_ Knight had magically materialised in front of him. (Was there a drone nearby? Or an advanced penis stretcher?)

Mitch was intrigued.

“No clue. Perhaps we stopped by my place in between drunken hangouts?”

A faint blush had crept over Chris’ face. He didn’t seem antsy as such. He was quiet, almost still. Okay, bunny slippers were probably as close to baby Chris that Mitch was going to get here but, there was something off. It was like Chris knew something, something much more defying than the plans for trying to replicate perpetual motion, or something else Darlington employees would somehow have uncovered.

He appeared more trustworthy plotting a laser annihilation of a popcorn filled house.

“Chris.” Mitch’s tone was weary. “What did we do?”

He trained his eyes on Chris’ face. He wasn’t really listening to the truckload of excuses that dropped from his plush mouth, knowing it was all a lie. The dart of Chris’ pupils, the wild gestures of his hands, proved it.

“Chris, just tell me we didn’t start a war, join a cult or something.”

“No Mitch, to both of those. For the love of Sir Lazlo Hollyfeld, still in Wyoming I presume, I’m adding ‘join no, _start_ a cult’ to the list. I’ve heard this Scientology bullshit might just take off, too many weird celebrities are buying into it. We should try get a piece of that action.”

He was flaking out on him, Mitch wasn’t letting him get away with it that easy.

“ _Christopher Knight_.” His added in a rich tone. “What. Did. _We_. Do.”

Chris laughed nervously. Ran his hand through his mussed blonde hair. Took a deep sigh, rolled some words about his mouth and—

“Each other.”

Mitch’s jaw dropped.

Mitch didn’t know what to make of that. He was desperately trying to piece things together. It didn’t help that the possessed baby film ended after midnight so, by association, it was at least the following four hours that he couldn’t work out. But, he was a genius. They both were. How either of them could end up doing something so stupid (even more so than Chris’ calculated level of pure stupid), he hadn’t the faintest clue.

He was too deep in thought that he missed Chris say something. He was still shocked, that he didn’t ask him to repeat himself.

Chris was pacing about the small cell. He knocked over a couple of things with haste, which shook Mitch from his daze.

“Mitch, Mitch. Just breathe, it’s okay. Talk to me.” He launched himself at Mitch, grabbed hold of his hands. He forced Mitch to look at him.

“Did, did I— Mitch took a shaky breath, stalled for a moment. “— _Like_ , it?”

Chris was puzzled. That was not the sort of thing he’d expected of his former ‘mini me protege’, as he had come to call him, to ask.

The fact that Chris was stalling was enough that Mitch knew the answer.

“And um, did _you_?” He asked warily, he tried to gauge the reaction: Chris’s huge hands let go of him, he backed away, eyes firmly on the floor.

“You did, didn’t you?”

Chris nodded with a muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ thrown in there.

“Were you planning on that happening or did it just—“

“—I was lying - _duh_ \- when I told you I don’t make plans. They _offend_ me. Truly offend me but we must make them. Sometimes.” 

“You lie about a ton of stuff, Chris, it’s more concerning when you tell me the straight up truth.”

Chris didn’t say anything, he fidgeted. Circled round the room a little. He sat down, cross legged. He fiddled with the ridiculous (and cute) bunny ears on his slippers.

“For once, just tell me. No schemes, no long and crazy diatribes that skirt around it. I’m an adult now, I can handle it.” Mitch crouched in front of Chris.

“Ugh fine.” He relented with a smile, “Mr Knight, I _demand_ that you tell of the debauchery we engaged in the early hours of the morning, _it’s a moral imperative._ ” His voice dropped an octave or so.

“Screw it to the highest degree.”

Chris got to his knees, a hand on Mitch’s hip, the other buried in his brown hair. His tongue was in his mouth, swirling around without restraint. He leant forward so, their chest’s were flush with one another and that meant, other hardness’ were in the perfect alignment now too. Chris ground his cut hips forward as Mitch’s buckled. He fell forward, breaking the kiss and Chris caught him, he laughed that beautiful laugh as Mitch panted and tried to get a hold of himself.

“Is that the answer you so well persuaded me to give you, my sweet, idiotic, Mitch Taylor?”

Mitch beamed.

“All right, I’ll confess. I knew you weren’t enjoying the women last night. I knew you wouldn’t enjoy a grown woman like that at all. I just had to be sure before we—“

Mitch grabbed his jaw. Chris shut up.

“Still a schemer, huh Knight?”

Chris scoffed, “How could you ever _doubt_ me Herr Taylor? Disgusted. Although it pains me to admit, last night…” he sighed audibly “…wasn’t the first night I’d wanted that, wanted you.”

Mitch’s brow rose. It was all starting to fall into place.

All those heavy looks throughout the night, the touches, the way Chris just couldn’t leave him alone. Even back then in ’85, Chris sure hugged him a hell of a lot. He always kept a close eye on him, he had played the mentoring card well. Mitch had decided it was a fatal character flaw that Chris was so handsy but now, he didn’t see any problem with it.

It was just Chris. His Chris. That’s all he wanted.

“Alright. Since when?”

Chris’ eyebrow furrowed. He rose a hand to his chin, with a quizzical (and laughable) expression.

“ _Welcome to Pacific Tech’s Smart People On Ice._ ” He belted. That was sound enough.

Mitch laughed, as a huge hand clapped his shoulder. His eyes followed it, up Chris’ forearm, to his shoulders and to the flush in his face. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.

“You seem to have forgotten your genius, Mr Knight. Of course I knew that.”

Chris’ eyes widened comically.

“You.. you. How did you- Mitch, you were _fifteen_.”

“I didn’t.”

“God, that makes me sound just like some awful—“

“— I didn’t know. Not then. Over the years, things seemed to fall into place... But that doesn’t matter.”

Chris looked relieved. He sighed an over the top sigh, his arms snaked their way around Mitch’s back and he kissed him again. Deep and dirty, his hands roamed anywhere, everywhere.

Mitch chuckled as he pulled away, he gasped for breath.

“So now, how do we get out of this cell?”

Chris scanned the room.

“Tunnel our way out? Tie the bedsheets together and hang them through the bars? Climb through the vents?” He winked.

Mitch groaned.

“You start on the tunnel, I’ll try get hold of a guard to explain what the hell we did.”

“Got it, Professor Taylor.”

Chris hand’s clutched at his pockets. He smiled.

“All I have is this tiny silver spoon, but maybe just maybe, by the time Hathaway- barf- is out of prison, so will we have escaped these _shackles_ of pitiful -again _pitiful_ \- authority.”

The two of them just laughed and laughed.


End file.
